


Getting It

by wildwordwomyn



Category: Leverage
Genre: Erotica, M/M, Mild Language, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-12
Updated: 2010-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 16:45:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwordwomyn/pseuds/wildwordwomyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot likes women. He also likes Hardison. Let there be angst. And sex. And romance, but don't tell Eliot...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting It

**Author's Note:**

> I figured Alec deserved to get lucky and Eliot deserved to be treated tenderly for once.

Eliot Spencer loves the ladies. When he has the time, and energy, he tries to show his appreciation for them. Flirting here, a date there, mutually satisfying time spent between the sheets. He may be built for violence, and at times it comes a little too easily to him, but a slow dance and some crisp Chardonnay are always agreeable.

 

Which is why he doesn't understand this constant urge to notice a male whatever-Hardison-is.

 

It doesn't make any sense. He's annoying as hell. Always talking and joking and he may know his stuff around a computer (Eliot will never get the difference between gigabytes and megabytes) but he's never as, what's the word?, respectful as each job seems to call for. He's, God, he's Hardison all day, every day, whether it's a good thing or not. And he can't protect himself in the real world. Eliot's always coming to his rescue. And the kid can drive him up a freaking wall quicker than a baseball player can spit!

 

Still, here he is, once again, staring at the kid's mouth. At his lips. At a glimpse of wet, pink tongue when his lips part to speak. No one is watching him luckily so he can enjoy viewing the thick, clothes-covered columns of Hardison's thighs, the smooth skin on his hands. The swift dexterity in his fingers as he types on his keyboard. Maybe he needs to go find someone. It's been a while since he's had a date, in bed or out. Maybe he's missing scratching that itch. Because, really, what else explains why he's taking such deep breaths in to catch the hacker's spicy scent?

 

"You didn't hear a word I said earlier, did you?" Hardison asks later after Nate, Sophie and Parker have gone to work on their parts in the con.

 

"Course I did," he answers. But he's lying. For the first time in too long he's distracted. This, he's well aware, is how people end up hurt.

 

Hardison is standing on the other side of Nate's kitchen island, a sweating two liter of orange Crush in front of him. He lifts his t-shirt up a little to wipe at the condensation on the island, giving Eliot a full view of lean, hairless belly. Eliot doesn't move, doesn't let on that he's noticed. On the inside, however, his thoughts are jumbled together as his heartbeat begins to pick up speed. The kid is built like a brick shit house. Eliot winces slightly when his mouth waters at the image of his own face rubbing against the muscles that are visible.

 

"What'd I say, El?" He can feel the kid looking at him, waiting impatiently for a reply. Just like he can feel that his own control is slipping. He just doesn't know what to do about it. It's not like he has experience dealing with latent homosexual feelings or anything.

 

"I'll figure it out," he growls, blinking to release the hold that six-pack has on him.

 

When he looks up he finds something else to be wary of. Hardison is looking deep into his eyes, trying to read him. He's not as skilled at it as Eliot or Sophie, but it still feels wrong. If he ever becomes good at reading Eliot he'll be in big trouble. The kid's eyes narrow in concentration. He tries to play the moment off by rolling his eyes, hoping beyond hope that he succeeds.

 

"I said I got it, Hardison. Can I leave now or do you need something?" He pretends the sigh he hears is of no consequence.

 

Just as he turns to walk out the front door Hardison rounds the island, ending up blocking in his path. Eliot growls in frustration. At least that's how he hopes the kid sees it. If there's a tinge of desperation and hunger in it he'd rather he not realize it. But he doesn't take into account that Hardison might want him just as much. Because suddenly there's a hand in his hair and a mouth attempting to eat him up.

 

Eliot, let it be known, is not one for having his hair pulled. He didn't grow it out to have it played with all the time. It's just easier to hide behind. And honestly, he's too lazy to cut it. But he's not a woman. He doesn't need his full brown locks to be finger-combed or brushed by someone else. So when Hardison pulls hard enough to bring a tear to his eye his first instinct is to clock him. Until he does it again, and Eliot has to admit that it feels good. Good enough to get him hard and panting in a minute flat. There's obviously some sort of electrical connection between his hair and his crotch. Need instantly blooms in his gut as Hardison moans in the back of his throat and pulls even tighter.

 

"Jesus, man," he breathes when his lungs threaten to explode. "Why didn't you ever tell me?!"

 

This time Eliot doesn't respond. He runs curious fingers down the kid's chest, skipping under the t-shirt to map out his ribs. Hardison whimpers. He can't tell if it's from ticklishness or desire but it doesn't matter. He's found out what he wanted to know. He drops to his knees, dragging his hands down those hard thighs as he goes.

 

"...Uh...El?..." Hardison blinks, unsure and a little nervous.

 

Eliot smirks. He's back in control now that he knows what he's doing. He doesn't really. The equipment is unfamiliar and he's new to the handling of it but he is a quick study. Hitters have to be, right? So he rubs his face against Hardison's abdomen while his hands make quick work of removing his blue jeans. And, man, red has become his favorite color because he takes his time pulling down the red boxer briefs Hardison's wearing. Something about the contrast of the rich apple color against that dark skin tone gets him leaking in his own underwear.

 

"Come on, El. Please..."

 

He has always had a kink for begging. Always. Turns out a man's hoarse voice works just as well on him as a woman's high-pitched one. Or maybe it's just the kid making him shake with a need so intense he feels like it's suffocating him. Either way his only response is to release his shaft from its cloth prison and suck it down in one quick motion. Hardison's so surprised he climaxes before Eliot can really enjoy himself, shooting fire down his throat. Eliot swallows reflexively before pulling back to nurse the head.

 

He'll probably never say it out loud but the kid looks so damn fine standing there over him. Strong and solid and shuddering in the sexiest little way that Eliot's ever seen. He's watching him with his eyes wide open, lips locked on a sharp exhale, his hands cupping and caressing Eliot's jaw as he licks softly at the now sensitive head.

 

"...Jesus, El...," Hardison gasps, sinking down to the floor. "You gotta let me do that to you!"He dives into Eliot's mouth with everything he has, licking his lips open to suck on his tongue.

 

The kid lays him down right there on the hardwood floor in front of Nate's kitchen island and hastily pulls his jeans and boxers down to get inside. Only he takes his time tasting him, suckling as if the flavors are so delicious he's savoring them, milking him tenderly. Hardison looks up at him, his gaze a pulsing, living thing separate from the young man himself. Eliot can't help getting caught up in it. No one has ever looked at him like that before. At least not long enough to live to tell the tale. But Hardison, God, he's something outside the realm of definition. Something wild and beautiful and...

 

When Eliot comes he does it with Hardison's name erupting from somewhere deep inside him.

 

"You're beautiful," he murmurs quietly in the afterglow. In spite of himself the kid's gotten to him. He curses himself after the slip until he notices the private smile lighting up his face. "Damn it, Hardison." There's no heat behind the words, however, and Hardison knows it. He just keeps on smiling. "Don't say a word. Not one word." He glares but it's useless. Hardison's chin is resting on his still half-hard penis and it's beginning to jerk happily in appreciation. "I'm never gonna live this down, am I?"

 

"You don't want to, do you?" Hardison tells him with no amount of hesitation. He drops his gaze to plant an intimate, feathery kiss in the dip of his pelvis.

 

Eliot's eyes slide closed of their own accord. He rubs Hardison's shoulders and head gently, fighting not to want more of that warm, wet mouth but not pushing him away when the kid plants more barely-there kisses on his inner thighs.

 

"Just come up here so I can kiss you," he says gruffly instead of leaving like he knows he should. If the kid happens to catch how his own body shudders when he kisses his way up the rough, scarred skin he thankfully doesn't mention it.


End file.
